Cast the Dice
by Stelra Etnae
Summary: At 27, Shanks is the youngest Capo of the Roger Family, juggling business and play with reckless abandon. At 29, Donquixote Doflamingo is the Boss of a rising Family, with ambitions far beyond what small-town North Blue can offer. They meet in Grand Line City, and the world will burn. Mafia AU.


_**Written for OP Reverse Bang 2016 event on Tumblr.**_

 _ **The prompt, given by my artist partner ticksan, was for a Doflamingo/Shanks Mafia AU. Which is a pairing I never even thought about before then, but as I wrote this story I got really into it. Because Unresolved Sexual Tension. Lots and lots of it. Please also check out ticksan's lovely artwork for this prompt on their Tumblr artblog - flowerofthewave! Thanks for your support!**_

 **Original Prompt: Modern AU. Sometime in the future Doflamingo and Shanks will be influential figures in the world of not quite legal businesses. But starting out is never quite easy and both of them have to deal with different kinds of struggles, and occasionally each other.**

 _ **This was really fun to write, and quite the experience as I've never tackled this genre before, so I hope that you'll enjoy reading it as well!**_

 _ **Rated T for mild sexual innuendos and Doflamingo being Doflamingo.**_

* * *

It was dark outside, thick clouds obscuring the meager light of the new moon, but none of the chill reached into the depths of the dance club where bodies pressed against each other, where the air was heavy with the scent of perfume and alcohol and sweat. Wafting cigarette smoke made the colored strobe lights flicker, dancing across gyrating silhouettes.

Shanks smiled flirtatiously at the busty brunette who had daringly pressed up against his side, her low-cut dress displaying a pleasing eyeful of pale cleavage. He tugged her closer so she half-straddled him in his lounging position on the plush red sofa set, his arm coming to curl around her curvaceous form, hand resting low on her hip. She batted her dark lashes at him, sliding a hand to toy with the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt. On his other side, a blonde with stunning blue-green eyes and a pink-lipped pout refilled his glass with dark rum before settling back against him. Picking it up with manicured fingers tipped with glittering gold nail polish, she tilted it to his lips to let him drink.

At twenty-seven years of age, Shanks was the Roger Family's youngest Capo. Some people whispered that he would soon be promoted to Underboss in the Family; after all, many knew of how Roger favored his young protégé, and character-wise Shanks certainly bore a great resemblance to Roger in his hell-raising younger days. Others scoffed at the very thought, saying that he was still no more than a foolhardy boy, as green as he had been when Roger first picked him off the streets.

Either way the discussion on _that_ matter swung, his influence and looks made him popular among the young and flighty of the less-reputable circles in the City, which suited the party-loving redhead perfectly well. While not precisely handsome in a classic way, the young Capo was by no means hard on the eyes, and had a lethal dose of charm that easily found him both lovers and allies alike. The three parallel scars across his left eye did nothing to detract it, only adding a hint of danger to the rakish air he already had, and that was like honey to some. And so today he lounged carelessly on a plush sofa with a gorgeous woman on each arm, the envy of every occupant in this bar that reeked of cigarettes and perfume.

So it was no surprise that many eyes flickered over the night towards him and his cozy little group, but there was one that Shanks felt like a prickling at the back of his neck, and he pulled away from cherry red lips to slide a considering glance across the room.

The blond man leaning against the bar didn't even flinch at being caught staring. Even though purple-tinted glasses obscured the stranger's eyes, Shanks could feel the heat of his gaze, almost intense enough to be a force on its own. Met by that unabashed stare, the corner of Shanks' mouth quirked as he let his eyes roam daringly as well, sweeping down the man's form and up again. And it would not be said that Shanks disliked what he saw.

The man's feathery pink overcoat was perhaps on the rather outlandish side of a fashion statement, and was the most striking feature of his person. Beneath the outrageous coat, his shirt was left completely unbuttoned, leaving nothing of that muscled chest to the imagination. And those legs. Even seated, it was clear that he was very tall and would tower over Shanks by a good two heads at least. Every inch of the man's figure screamed arrogance and power, and the bulk of the feathered coat only added to his looming presence, felt even across the room.

Shanks licked his lips. Eyes never leaving the other man's, he sprawled back further in his seat, stretching out his legs lazily in an obvious invitation. The movement caused his shirt, already unbuttoned a further two notches down by the enterprising brunette, to slide a little, revealing hints of tanned abs. He saw a barely perceptible shift in the blond stranger's expression, and grinned inwardly in victory.

It was common knowledge that Red-Haired Shanks did not discriminate in his choice of bedmates. After all, when there was so much fun to be had in the world, why should Shanks waste all that potential by only inviting the attention of a single sex?

Shanks knew that he had successfully lured him over before the blond stranger even rose to his feet. When the man started across the room, weaving expertly between gyrating dancers, he hid his grin behind a sip of rum.

His admirer never reached him however, intercepted halfway by a dark-haired man with a sharp goatee and sideburns, both fastidiously trimmed, dark reflective glasses shading his eyes despite the murky lighting of the club. An irritated scowl twisted the blonde's face at the unwanted check, turning to deliver some clearly snappish words to the newcomer. Black Goatee's stoic look didn't falter in the slightest, instead continuing to whisper something into the blonde's ear that instantly changed his expression from impatient annoyance to vindictive glee.

The blond stranger's attention flicked back to Shanks. In response to the enquiry in Shanks' arched eyebrow he raised his glass in toast, a sardonically sharp smile showing white teeth before he downed the rest of his drink and disappeared into the crowd.

Well. It had been a long while since Shanks had been thwarted from what he wanted. More shame on Pink Overcoat then, as Shanks turned back to the busty brunette's pouting cajolery, turning his most charming smile back on.

If anyone had been watching, by all appearances Shanks seemed to have forgotten the would-be encounter entirely, but when he left at the end of the night he brought away the leggy blond with blue-green eyes, and wondered in a greedy part of his mind what color were the eyes hidden behind purple-tinted lenses.

* * *

"Something's caught your fancy. Or _someone_?"

Shanks jumped guiltily from his thoughts and glanced towards his companion, startled by her sudden words.

Rouge smiled knowingly at him. "Oh don't try to deny it. I practically raised you, Shanks, I know all your little expressions. You learnt many of them from Roger as well, and he's always been so easy to read. This one you have on right now tells me that you're racking your mind on how best to deflect me." She patted his hand with a laughing look. "Don't worry, I won't pry," she reassured him, eyes twinkling.

Usually he hated it when people treated him like a child, but Rouge was an exception. Growing up as an orphan in the Roger Family, she had always been the closest thing to a mother to him. And on top of knowing his quirks perhaps better than he knew himself, she had always been uncannily perceptive about the things going around her. The red-haired youth smiled back with a helplessly fond look as he accompanied her through the bustling marketplace.

"I can't keep anything from you, can I?"

Rouge grinned back at him. "You're already smarter than Roger, since you've realized that. Now it's not my place to be nosy, and I'm sure you've already gotten the whole safe sex spiel from Ray when you were sixteen—"

"Miss Rouge!" Shanks complained, half scandalized and the other half secretly amused. Or not so secretly, from the laughing look she sent him under her lashes.

"Alright, alright. I already promised I wouldn't pry, it's just that you're so fun to tease. I'll put it out of my mind now, so do your job and bring me to that new steamed bun stall you mentioned."

Shanks couldn't resist laughing aloud as he tucked her small hand more firmly in the crook of his elbow. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

If one asked who essentially ran Grand Line City's underground, there were some who rather than naming the big Bosses like Roger and Whitebeard and Shiki, would instead point you towards Mistress Shakuyaku – bar owner, information broker, undeniably one of the most influential women in the City, if not the most. She offered unmatched quality on the latest information to those willing to pay her prices, and few dared to cross her even after a few beers. In the early days some foolhardy drunkards had tried to rob the modest bar that she owned, and woke up two days later next to the garbage heap shoeless and with their pockets completely emptied, all shiftily disclaiming all memories of how they had arrived at that state. One man almost peed himself in the process. No one had dared to since. Word on the street linked her to the Roger Family, claiming that she was the Consigliere's woman. Her mysterious half-smile given in reply to those brave (or drunk) enough to ask neither confirmed nor denied this rumor. It certainly wasn't hurt by the frequency with which Roger's men could be found hanging around her bar.

On this particular day it was Shanks who was drinking up a storm with his men there at Shakky's bar. The noise level in the taproom was fast reaching a crescendo, punctuated by boisterous laughter and drunken singing. Shanks blew a teasing kiss in the direction of the young barmaid who was Shakky's only employee in this bar, and Makino returned it with a laughingly indulgent look born of many years of familiarity and too much sense to fall for his flirtations. The redhead gave her a mock-disappointed pout to which she shook her head with fond exasperation.

A call from further down the bar drew her attention. "Maki-chan, another round of beer over here!" As the barmaid went to deliver foaming tankards of beer to the waiting customers, Shakky personally set two glasses of whiskey in front of the Capo and his right-hand man.

Shanks took a sip and raised an eyebrow at the bar's proprietress, eyes laughing as he identified the rich flavor. "Any reason why you're serving us the good stuff from Master Rayleigh's best stash?"

The answering twinkle in Shakky's eyes was just as mischievous. "A man who doesn't come home for six months at a time has no business complaining about other people drinking his alcohol."

The redhead threw his head back to laugh, all too familiar with their Consigliere's wandering ways. "I'll pass the message on if I see him."

Shakky's tone shifted to a more serious one as she took out a set of photographs from beneath the bar, placing them in front of him. "I've gotten the intel that you asked for last time, about the botched operation last week." Interest piqued, Shanks spread the photos out to study them. The first thing he saw was a feathery pink coat, dimmed by bad light and a grainy photo but unmistakable. "Donquixote Doflamingo. Boss of the Donquixote Family, a small group originating from North Blue. They've been operating there for a number of years, but recent talk says that they are aiming to expand from their base into the City."

The usually easy-going youth's grin had turned faintly predatory. "And he chose right here, in the Roger Family's territory. Specifically, in _my_ territory. Gutsy."

"He's not one to be taken lightly, Shanks. Doflamingo, is in his twenties, thirties at most, but has already built up quite the reputation as a ruthless businessman. He is also widely known by his alias Joker, and is well known in the underground circuit in North Blue. The Donquixote Family is primarily involved in the distribution of the drug SMILE, and there are some rumors suggesting that the creator of the drug, Caesar Clown, is affiliated to the group." She shifted the photos, drawing out four. "These four are known to be his top operatives – Diamante, Vergo, Pika and Trebol."

So. Black Goatee now had a name as well.

Shanks had thought it strangely coincidental how the blond stranger's departure had matched up with the jumbled reports he later received of a major smuggling operation being hijacked by an unknown party, Shanks' men finding nothing but an emptied boat and their contacts washing up dead on the shore. Now it all made sense.

Donquixote Doflamingo… He was certainly not one to be trifled with, but then neither was Shanks. He hid his grin behind his glass as he knocked back his drink, the alcohol burning down his throat.

This was going to be interesting.

* * *

He saw a flash of red from the corner of his eye and had turned before he even realized. But the red hair that met his eyes was shorter and less vibrant in color, the man's figure slimmer with pale skin barely covered by the skimpy outfit he wore. As if sensing his stare, the stripper glanced over his shoulder, and upon meeting Doflamingo's unapologetic stare returned it with a provocative smile.

Doflamingo beckoned him over with an imperious crooked finger, and the stripper slinked over, leather belts rustling. Long lashes and dark, expressive eyes. A sly smile playing at the edge of lush lips, tempting with secrets untold. Doflamingo licked his own lips in response, heat rising.

"I will not be disturbed until morning," he told Vergo without looking at him. He heard Vergo's quiet sigh and Trebol's indulgent chuckles, Diamante leaning over to say something to Jora that made her giggle. He ignored all of them, letting the hooker guide him to one of the upstairs rooms.

If the muscles under his roaming hands lacked the firmness and steel-cut edges of those that he had glimpsed one night a week ago, and that red hair was too short to bury his fingers in and tug like he wanted, he ignored that as well.

* * *

The next time they saw each other, Shanks was stumbling out of Shakky's bar with a distinct sway to his step, finishing off the last few drops from a bottle of sake. Behind him, the rest of his men were in worse condition, arms slung across each other's shoulders just to keep upright. He whined a little when he found his bottle empty, shaking it as if that would make more booze magically appear, before finally deeming it a lost cause and tossing it into the nearest trashcan.

And when he glanced back up, there he was. Fucking Donquixote Doflamingo, strutting down the street as if he owned it.

(Part of Shanks' brain resented that, because this was _his_ territory. The other part of it, which was for better or worse more in control of him right now, went straight to admiring those illegally long legs.)

Doflamingo was flanked by the four men that Shakky had pointed out, filling up the narrow street with their presence. They were an eclectic bunch by appearance alone, but there was something about how they all walked a half-step behind the blonde that spoke volumes about their deference to their Boss.

Around him, some of his men had tensed at the sight of the rival gang. Shanks checked the more aggressive ones with a wave of his hand and they backed away slowly, hands still twitching towards their guns cautiously. Shanks didn't budge, smirking at the tall figure who came to a stop in front of him. He towered over Shanks, loose-limbed and arrogant, and his height alone probably intimidated most people. Shanks certainly wasn't most people. "You want something?" he snarked with a raised eyebrow, straight-backed despite a slight drunken swaying.

Doflamingo was close now, so close as he leaned into Shanks' space and his lips curved into a dirty smirk. "Maybe."

The kiss was hot and fast and a challenge if there ever was one, and Doflamingo was almost around the corner by the time Shanks' alcohol-addled head even processed it, but Shanks caught his parting smirk before the blond was gone from sight.

His men had bristled, but Shanks waved them down again. Benn shot him an inquiring look and Shanks' answering nod seemed to satisfy him for the moment, as he turned back to continue ushering the men down the street.

Shanks lingered for a moment, glancing back at the foggy lamp-light where the man had been. "So that's how you want to play it, huh?" Shanks murmured with a martial light in his eye, smoldering desire twisting with a sharper edge of amusement. "Bring it on. I've never been one to back down from a game."

* * *

"Doffy, you might want to see this." Diamante and Trebol were crouched at the edge of the flat roof they had appropriated for the night, both staring intently at something below through binoculars pressed to their eyes. It was a strategic location, situating them under the cover of darkness where the dock's spotlights didn't reach while allowing them to watch the shore. Doflamingo strode forward, taking the set of binoculars that Trebol immediately relinquished to him.

There was a pause. "Is he an idiot?" Doflamingo muttered caustically as he surveyed the scene, though it wasn't clear which he meant – Higuma for daring to call out one of Roger's Capos, or said red-haired Capo for actually walking in alone to what was obviously an ambush. And it really seemed that Shanks was alone, recklessly; Doflamingo counted five of Higuma's men lurking in the shadows of the warehouse and hiding behind containers, but none of Red Hair's own.

Higuma and Shanks were trading words back and forth, the former getting more and more agitated with everything the young Capo said, the latter persisting throughout with that little confident smirk that made Doflamingo lick his lips slowly.

Oh Doflamingo remembered that smirk, playing on the redhead's lips as he threw an unmistakable invitation across the smoky strobe-lighted bar, bare hints of exposed skin more tantalizing than any scantily-clad whore around. Shanks had a raw magnetic attraction and he knew it. Doflamingo remembered the desire that had reared up at the sight of that careless confidence.

The desire to mark that skin, claim him as his own.

The desire to take and take and take, everything and more.

The desire to crush him, knowing that he'll fight back every step of the way.

It was tantalizing. An addiction.

He saw the defining moment when the scene below changed. Shanks' smirk grew downright taunting as he said something, and Higuma responded with a bowstring tightening of his shoulders and an angry command. The lackeys hiding in the shadows came out all that once, charging at the Capo in an attack that while inelegant, might just have enough brute force to work. That was, until the shooting started.

Doflamingo's eyes never left the scene as the trash around the red-haired Capo fell one after another, each shot down lightning-quick by a disabling bullet to the leg they never saw coming. He turned his binoculars towards the source of the shots, finding the dark-haired sniper crouched on the roof of a nearby warehouse, firing off shot after shot with impassive concentration. The tiny cherry of the sniper's thin cigarette glowed faintly in the darkness, a thin waft of smoke floating up to the heavens like an ode to his victims. Red Hair had not come alone then, and it seemed like that single backup was more than enough to deal with his enemies. The skill and accuracy of the shots were truly impressive, considering the distance between the sniper and his targets, the main reason why he had not been discovered prior to this.

The sharp grin that split Doflamingo's face was one that many had learnt to associate with their doom. He tossed the binoculars to Vergo, gesturing for the raven to look.

"I want that sniper."

He felt Diamante and Vergo trade a look behind him. He glanced back at them, tone going a little snappish with his impatience. "What is it?"

"That's Benn Beckman," Vergo finally said, naming the sniper. "Has a reputation of being one of the Roger Family's best snipers, if not the absolute best. He also has a reputation for being unparalleled in his loyalty to Red Hair. Rumor has it that Roger offered him the position of Capo, but he turned the promotion down because he would not leave Red Hair's side."

"So he's loyal. Whatever. I've never yet seen a man who cannot be moved." Doflamingo's eyes hungrily followed the scene below. Higuma and the few more intelligent ones were backing away hastily, watching Shanks with wary eyes. A final bullet, shot to crack the floor before Higuma's feet, turned them running. Shanks was outright grinning now as he walked away from the meeting point. This whole debacle had been a warning, beautifully done. A warning to all who challenged him, maybe even aimed towards Doflamingo himself. A show of power, plain and simple. Because what better message than to say, I could crush you without even bringing my full force?

He watched as Shanks paused near to the sniper's nest, Benn Beckman dropping down nimbly to stand beside him. And then the redhead turned in Doflamingo's direction, eyes unerringly meeting his with a smirk and a mocking blow-kiss that was equal parts taunt and challenge. Doflamingo wetted his lips.

"Get me that sniper."

* * *

It took Doflamingo three weeks and a lot of hair-pulling from Diamante, Jora, Trebol and Vergo to half-admit that maybe there really were unshakable men in this world of theirs, and one of them was Benn fucking Beckman. Only half though. And people who had dealt with Doflamingo before would know that, just like a spoiled child, the more unattainable something was, the more he wanted it.

"You're not getting Benn, Doffy," was the first thing the redhead said as Doflamingo slid into the seat beside him, expressive eyebrows arched at him over the tankard of beer he was drinking from telling him that the Donquixote Family's increasingly less subtle efforts had not gone unnoticed. The use of his pet name, that only his closest friends used, was a deliberate needle as well.

Doflamingo's mouth curved into a taunting smirk as he signaled for the bartender to give him a set of tequila shots. When it arrived he downed one immediately, licking his lips as the burn soared through him. "I don't think that's your call to make. I've been known to be quite... _persuasive_."

Instead of bristling at the obvious challenge, Shanks grinned right back, completely unfazed and bright eyes unwavering in his trust towards his right-hand man. "You're welcome to try as many times as you want. I just thought I'd save you the wasted time."

Those words, that confidence. It was in that moment that he knew that Benn Beckman was Shanks' man through and through. And Shanks was Roger's man through and through. Doflamingo hated it.

The burn of sharp jealousy seared through him with the next shot of tequila. And when Doflamingo was jealous, what he wanted to was the rips things apart, until they were all in shattered pieces. He wanted to break the smiling man sitting before him.

This whole thing, this whole obsession, had never truly been about the sniper. Because what consumed him now wasn't getting Benn Beckman on his side. It had never been Benn Beckman. It was all about taking Shanks' most trusted man away from him.

Because he wanted Shanks to be _his_ , and _only his_.

The young Capo had caught his fancy, and Doflamingo had never shared his toys well.

* * *

"So I've been hearing some rumors about you and the Donquixote's young Boss…" Shanks just gave his father figure a deadpan look as Roger waggled his eyebrows at him playfully while trying to grab him in a choke hold. Really? During hand-to-hand combat practice?

Shanks didn't deign it with a reply, instead taking a jab at the older man's unprotected side, and was frustratingly blocked.

"Sloppy, Shanks, you're getting predictable," Roger admonished as he did a quick side-step to dodge the next attack. He darted in to grab Shanks' collar, which Shanks dislodged with a sharp turn. "But we're not done with this topic yet. Now Ray already told you about having safe sex…"

"Sometimes you and Miss Rouge are so alike it's creepy."

"My Rouge is perfection."

There was a pause where Shanks managed to get Roger in an arm lock but got flipped onto the mat for his trouble. He rolled away and sprung back up before Roger could pin him down.

"I know that you can take care of yourself, Shanks." Roger's voice was quiet in a rare moment of seriousness. "But be careful."

"You don't have to tell me that. I've got it under control." Shanks shook his hair out of his eyes, and charged in again. "It's just a game."

* * *

He saw the furtive glances Diamante, Jora and the others sent him when they thought he wasn't looking. He vindictively blew up one of Roger's warehouses in response. There was something eminently satisfying about leaving an eye-catchingly flaming message behind, especially when it also brought Shanks spitting fire at him the next time they met. It was a delicious look to match his fiery hair. The memory of it sent a thrill through him, knowing that it was directed at him and him alone.

This whole thing was a game, and Doflamingo had always loved being the puppet-master.

* * *

It was a strange thing, that they had.

They danced around each other, never quite lingering for too long; close enough to leave tantalizing touches but never close enough to burn. Both of them knew how easy it was to burn.

And so they played, they danced, they rolled the dice.

After all, in the end it's all a game, isn't it?

Perhaps.

* * *

 _ **Please review, and don't forget to support the other works in the OP Reverse Bang as well! Constructive criticism is very welcome.**_


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